Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

it.”
    “It’s a mistake.”
    “It’s mine to make.”
    He glared at her, but she wasn’t about to be cowed by him now.
    “I’m going out,” he said.
    “Fine.”
    “Fine.” He slammed the door and stormed down the hall.
    Elizabeth slumped down onto the bed. “That went well.”
    * * *
    The street was crowded with people. For most, the workday was ending. Vendors packed up their wares and trundled their carts off for the night. Shopkeepers pulled metal grates closed with a resounding clang. The entire city was in transition. The long work week was giving way to a hard fought weekend.
    The world had certainly changed in the wake of the First World War. At least, Simon had vague memories of his grandfather telling him as much. The twenties began with a pause. Never had there been such loss, such senseless destruction. It left the world stunned and somber. But as with all great times of darkness, once the veil lifted, the sun shone brighter than before. Nothing makes life sweeter than a reminder of its tenuous nature.
    Cars were now a luxury most Americans could afford. The city and the country, once worlds apart, grew closer. Buildings sprouted out of the landscape. Higher and higher they reached, echoing the newfound desires of the people. Bigger was better, and nowhere was it truer than in New York City. Movie palaces, grand ballrooms, and high-rises stood testament to the new age. The jazz age.
    Jazz embodied the time. From its primal, blues riffs to the complex melodies of Gershwin, it all cried out to the soul of the New Yorker. You’ve worked hard, now it’s time to play hard. And play they did.
    Not since the rise of the Roman Empire was a society so hell bent on excess. Women painted their faces and bobbed their hair. As buildings went higher, so did women’s hemlines. Men built spectacles of human achievement: the Chrysler building, Holland Tunnel and the beginning of the Empire State building. So quintessentially American.
    Lubricating the party was a never-ending supply of booze: bathtub gin, Havana rum and whiskey with a kick. Women who would never have been seen drinking in public now frequented the dark speakeasies that dotted the landscape. There were more than five thousand to choose from in Manhattan alone. Everything from the upscale Conga Room to the hole in the wall, like Charlie’s Blues in the Night.
    “A speakeasy, of all places,” Simon mumbled to himself. He made his way down the sidewalk shouldering against the tide of humanity. Why was it he always seemed to be going against the traffic?
    What in God’s name could she be thinking? Hadn’t she gleaned anything from that scene in the alley?
    “Damn woman.”
    She was clearly without a grain of sense in her head.
    The wailing of car horns and early evening chatter were no more than an annoying buzz in his ear. His thoughts were filled completely with Elizabeth West and her damnable talent for making him feel completely undone. His temper had always been quick to light, but he’d been its master. Bloody hell.
    Why was she so damn obstinate? He was merely looking out for her welfare, which she seemed more than content to completely ignore. Rushing off down that alley last night had been idiotic. She must have been dropped on her head as a child.
    And then to accuse him of trying to keep her from working because of some male pride on his part. The idea was laughable. Absurd. It was mere happenstance she’d found employment first. It wasn’t a reflection of his lack of skill. It didn’t mean that he was incapable of providing for her.
    “Bugger.”
    He wasn’t entirely without skills. Surely he could secure some employment and they could afford to find her more suitable work. His search would have to wait until tomorrow, he thought as he noticed the sun had all but disappeared from the horizon.
    He’d never given a moment’s thought to caring for someone else. And now, suddenly it seemed to be the only constant in his world. He’d happily lived his life barely registering the other people in it. How did this damn woman find her way inside him? And for her to see him so clearly, so easily. She must be some emotional idiot savant.
    He’d wanted other women, had been with other women, but not one of them had gotten under his skin the way she had. Even her friendship, if he could call it that, ran deeper than the trysts at Oxford or the stunted relationships he’d bungled in the years after. Intimacy was simply not part